I Meet My Chemical Romance
by adrenajenn
Summary: This is my first fanfic for My Chemical Romance. I am a diehard Killjoy. (I am also a newb to FF, so please don't kill me.) This will be done in Chapters. Of course, once I figure out how to work this maze of categories.


"You look disgusting," said my father, as I walked outside. I succeeded at ignoring him, but merely verbally. It hurt, deep in my heart, that my father would think that I am a piece of filth. I, secretly, wanted to punch the living shit out of him. If I did so, two things would have happened. Firstly, I would have almost killed my father. Secondly, I would no longer have free reign in this reality. In other words, I would have been submitted into a mental institution with the other freaks. Then again, I loved being a freak. If it was even remotely normal, I would not associate with it. Normal, in my opinion, is nothing but an illusion.

I made it to the bus stop, ten yards from my house. I despised not owning a car. My dad was too cheap to get me one. I already had my license, so all he had to do was get off of his lard ass and buy me one. If I had one, the only album, that would be playing excessively, would be "Conventional Weapons" by My Chemical Romance. Anyone who even dared to change the station would probably die. I let a smile escape from my pie hole.

"Wow," the bus driver said, actually surprised, "You're wearing a mighty fine smile, there, Jen."

It immediately disappeared. He took it as a joke, and emitted a very familiar laughter. His stomach ricocheted from the bottom of the steering wheel. Give him a donut, and he would be the happiest man in the world. Although, there is nothing wrong with donuts and coffee.

I looked up, but only for a split second. I had to make sure that the person I was going to sit next to didn't drink one too many shots of espresso. I was in luck. I, apparently, had a doppelganger. He had pitch-black hair. He was hunched over his back. I heard the distinct godliness of guitars grinding from his pair of headphones. I sat down. My neon green backpack finally got to relax across my skinny jeans. I'd noticed that he wore skinny jeans, as well.

It grew awkward after a good five minutes. I wanted to strike a conversation, but I knew that headphones meant, "Shut the fuck up. I don't want to listen to the sound of your voice, right now." There was a sharp turn, which was weird for a school bus. The bump budged my arm off of my backpack. It revealed my "My Chemical Romance" sticker. It was in the same grunge text font.

As the bus pulled to a stop, another kid walked in, and the beautiful boy next to me seemed interested in my sticker. He outlined it with his index finger. It's unusual for me to make eye contact with anyone, but I found it strange for someone to 'want' to invade my personal space.

Once I made eye contact with him, I felt like my heart was going to explode. What do I say? What the hell do I say? What do I do? Do I propose to him? Do I grope him with my bare hands? Hell, I am a woman. I played it cool. By cool, I meant that I did not say a damned thing. I choked on my own words.

He looked confused. He took out an ear bud, and shoved his iPod in my face. In his case, this was perfectly alright. If it was anyone else, they would have gotten their eyes gouged by a pair of fingers.

"G…" That was all I could repeat. I sounded like a fucking retard. "G…G…" I made it an awkward porno; at least, I did in my mind. The dialogue was surely terrible. "Ger…"

It dawned on me, why everyone else on the bus did not say a word. They are all used to a certain routine. They wear the proper uniform as instructed. I wear whatever the hell I please. Of course, I was scolded a few times. My dad beat me because of it, when I got home from Detention. Everyone else did not know who this god was. They did not know who this genius, life saver, worrier riding a unicorn, was.

"Gerard?" He laughed. I was, officially, and utterly, embarrassed. The sound of his voice was orgasmic. He was going to be my best and only friend in this prison. "You like my band?"

I blushed. I let out a chuckle. If that chuckle could speak for itself, it would have said, "Of course, I do! Who the hell wouldn't? It's My Chemical Romance!" Instead, a measly, pathetic giggle translated for me.


End file.
